


Gunslinger

by Karis_Artemisia_Judith



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, No Sex, Western, cowboy, gunslinger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karis_Artemisia_Judith/pseuds/Karis_Artemisia_Judith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Let’s get things straight, here," he said, setting the boots aside and starting on his shirt buttons. "I’m not here for you."<br/>"I—wait, what?"<br/>"Not here for you. I’m here for your bed, not your body. So you don’t have to bother with all that…stuff. Because I want some sleep."<br/>"You came to a…a…you came here to sleep? Why?"<br/>"Never met a prostitute who couldn’t say ‘brothel’ before," he said. His eyes flickered over her, then away. "How old are you?"</p><p>Gunslinger AU - Kristoff is a lone gunslinger who just wants a good night's sleep--but the young dove he hires has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a drabble prompt--this stands alone, although I may expand on this AU (that's a thing that happens with AUs ;)

The gun belt thumped down on the bedside table, drawing a little gasp from the girl on the bed. Kristoff looked at her directly for the first time. Downstairs in the saloon he’d picked at random, as he always did, and as she’d led him to the room he’d kept her in his peripheral, just a swish of petticoats and a chattering, stammering voice. It was easier, not to look at them, not to have so many faces living in his memory, but the gasp caught him off guard. He should have known from her chatter that she would be young. The experienced whores knew when a man didn’t like to talk. He usually chose them, the older doves with their faded beauty propped up with paint and corsets, but he’d been in a hurry. This one was a girl—painted, like they all were, but underneath she looked as fresh and young as a spring morning. They’d dressed her up in lurid scarlet dress that was falling off of her slight shoulders, and clashed badly with the more natural red of her hair. Her wide eyes were fixed on the heavy loop of his belt, on the polished wood of the pistol butts. He sat down with a grunt to pull off his boots. Those wide eyes swung back to him, but once more he was carefully not looking at her. He heard her swallow, and on the edge of his vision he saw her shifting so that one leg was mostly bared, her back arched, a slim hand sliding down to drape over her hip.

"Let’s get things straight, here," he said, setting the boots aside and starting on his shirt buttons. "I’m not here for you."

"I—wait, what?"

"Not here for you. I’m here for your bed, not your body. So you don’t have to bother with all that…stuff. Because I want some sleep."

"You came to a…a…you came here to sleep? Why?"

"Never met a prostitute who couldn’t say ‘brothel’ before," he said. His eyes flickered over her, then away. "How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"And how long have you been a prostitute?"

"Long enough."

He grunted, then pulled his shirt off as he went to the wash basin to scrub some of the ingrained dirt from his skin. In the cloudy mirror he could see her watching him, her eyes running over the scars on his back, the healing knife slash across his ribs.

"Good answers. I don’t want to know your sob story. The answer to your question," he said, "is that brothels change their sheets more often than whatever rooms there are to rent over the coachhouse. Brothels have fewer bugs and vermin too, in my experience. When I want to sleep rough I can sleep on the ground. When I want a bed, I don’t want to share it with anything with more than two legs."

"What about me?"

"I don’t care what you do. You can sleep in the bed if you want. You can go find another customer, as long as you don’t bring him in here. As long as you don’t make too much noise and you don’t try to steal anything of mine, you can do whatever you like. And since nothing of mine is valuable anyway, I’m trusting you to remember that I’m twice your size and leave it alone."

She said something, but he didn’t hear it over the splash of water on his face. “What?” he asked, voiced muffled by the towel. Until he heard a click, and looked into the mirror to see her behind him, up on her knees on the bed, one pistol pointed at his back. It was massive in her small hands, and she had to use both arms to keep it lifted, but it only wavered a little.

"I said, don’t trust me." Her voice wavered a little, too, but her eyes were steady. "I need to get out of here, and you’re going to take me."

"I don’t take people places."

"So start."

He studied her reflection for a moment, then turned slowly, his hands held out at his sides. “And where is it you want to go?”

"To find my sister."


	2. Chapter 2

Kristoff woke up with the barrel of a gun in his face. He cocked an eyebrow at the girl kneeling on the bed beside him.

"Have you been there all night?"

"You fell asleep," she said accusingly. "You actually fell asleep."

"I told you I was going to. Point that thing somewhere else, or better yet put it down. Your arm must be about to fall off."

"Don’t worry about me. I’m tough."

"Sure." Kristoff got up and began yanking on his clothes. The girl’s face had gone dark red when he dropped his trousers the night before—if she blushed like that over seeing a man in the raw then she wasn’t an experienced whore. Hell, it had probably been her first night, and a girl that pretty, with that educated accent, well, she had  _complicated_  written all over her in letters a mile high. He hated  _complicated_. And if she was there to repay debts, like so many of the doves, then there would be hell to pay when her creditors caught up with them.

He should leave her here. It wouldn’t be hard to get the gun away from her, except he had a feeling she’d put up a fight. Or he could just walk out, leave her with the gun that she almost definitely wouldn’t dare to use. Except she’d probably try this stunt with the next idiot who tried to buy her, and when she did she’d get herself killed.

And he had given his word.

"Look," he’d said, water still dripping from his hair, his hands palm out where she could see them. "I don’t know what you expect me to do."

"Get me out of here. Out of town. I need to get to North Mountain—that’s where my sister was last seen. Take me there, and I won’t shoot you."

She’d set her jaw and glared at him, even though she was fighting to keep the heavy gun raised. Kristoff thought she looked small enough that a strong wind would knock her over, except there was something in her eyes. Something rock solid and determined. “Fine,” he heard himself say. “Fine, but I’m not going anywhere tonight. I came here for sleep, because I’ve been in the saddle almost nonstop for two days. Plus it’s too dark to go anywhere tonight. No moon. I’m not risking my horse breaking a leg for you, not even if you do shoot me. I’ll wake up at dawn.”

He’d shucked off his trousers, climbed into the bed, and rolled over with his back to her without another word. Her stare had made the back of his neck prickle for a while, but she didn’t say anything, and he really  _was_  tired from two days of hard travel. It had turned out to be fruitless, but at least he’d still gotten paid. He was getting the night of sleep he’d paid for, even if he got shot for his trouble.

Dressed, he turned to the girl and held out a hand. “My gun belt.”

"What? You can’t think I’m going to—"

"Look, I’ll take you to your sister, but I’m not going anywhere unarmed. You can keep one gun, but I’m taking the other."

She frowned at him. “How do I know you won’t abandon me?”

"You don’t. But if you want out of here, you don’t have a lot of choices. You want me to swear on something?"

"What’s your name?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked.

"Just tell me."

"It’s Kristoff."

"Okay, Kristoff. I’m Anna." She held out the gun belt and he took it, settling the familiar weight on his hips. He felt unbalanced without the second gun.

The girl—Anna, apparently—had changed out of the garish red satin at some time during the night and put on a blue riding skirt and black jacket, her hair neatly braided in plaits that made her look even younger. But still…He stepped toward her and caught her chin, stopping her reflexing flinch back. The skin of her jaw was soft and smooth, the softest thing he’d touched in…practically as long as he could remember. He had to stop his thumb from rubbing against it in wonder. Besides, it was her eyes he wanted to see. She stared back at him challengingly, that glint of determined courage a bright spark.

She was definitely going to be complicated.

"Fine, Anna," he said. "Let’s go."


End file.
